Outcasts of Order

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  The guard took even less time with Vaenturl, possibly because the trader from Montgren produced a document, possibly a passage letter, although Beltur couldn’t hear from where he and Jessyla waited. Both guards read it, asked several questions, and passed him through.

  When Jorhan moved up, the guards took quite a bit of time questioning him, but finally waved him through. With that, Karmult immediately moved out with his sledge.

  Vaenturl motioned for Beltur to follow. “It’s getting dark and cloudy, and we’ve still got another two or three kays to go. With luck, we might reach the city before the storm hits.”

  “The city’s not near?” asked Jessyla.

  “The canyon continues for another kay,” explained Vaenturl. “Maybe even a bit farther. Then there are fields, and then the city.”

  As Beltur eased Slowpoke after Karmult, the thought struck him that they had entered Axalt on the last day of fall, just before winter began. So, officially, we aren’t even violating the Council edict. As if that were the worst of his offenses against the Council. He shook his head and looked ahead, taking in the still narrow, stream-cut canyon and the winding road.

  Jessyla and Beltur rode only a few hundred yards before a gust of wind ripped into them, so cold that it felt like Beltur’s forehead was being stabbed by scores of tiny needles. After a few moments, he closed his eyes, trying to guide Slowpoke largely by his senses, although the swirling order and chaos made it hard for him to sense more than ten or fifteen yards ahead.

  While the storm was coming more out of the north than the east, the walls of the canyon channeled the winds and snow so that the travelers were heading directly into maelstrom.

  There was little sense in stopping, Beltur knew, because the snow and wind would last for glasses, if not days. So they plodded on, staying close behind Karmult. After what seemed like a glass, barely twenty yards away, so heavy was the snow, Beltur both sensed and saw another set of walls also crossing the entire canyon, lower than the border wall, topping out at perhaps ten yards, and seemingly in good repair, but with open and unguarded gates. The stream just poured through a stone culvert in the walls. Beltur wondered if the second wall was older, or constructed later as a secondary defense. Does it matter?

  Riding through the open gates was almost like riding through rapids of snow, but once past the wall, through the near-blinding snow, Beltur could discern that, east of the wall, the canyon opened into a valley. He couldn’t see just how big it might be, just that there were the fields Vaenturl had mentioned, terraced on levels, through which the road continued.

  They rode another kay before they reached a line of houses, as if whoever ruled Axalt had decreed that the houses would begin at that point, and the road became a street, one recently cleared since there were only about five digits of new-fallen snow on top of the stone pavement.

  Almost half a kay later, Karmult slowed his sledge to a halt at the edge of an open square, and Beltur and Jessyla reined up.

  Vaenturl pulled up behind them, calling out loudly so that his voice could be heard over the howling of the wind, “We’re going to the Traders’ Bowl. It’s on the far side of the square. We don’t know where Jorhan’s sister’s consort lives, but he’ll guide you there. We’ll be here for at least a few days.” After a pause, the trader added, “Just in case you two want to move on.”

  Moving on was the last thing on Beltur’s mind, especially in the middle of a northeaster. “Thank you. We’ll keep your words in mind.”

  “If you ever do get to Vergren, you’re welcome. Ask for me at Essek’s Factorage, off the main market square.”

  Beltur did his best to fix those names in his mind. Essek’s Factorage. “I appreciate that.”

  With a nod, Vaenturl eased his mount and sledge away from Beltur and Jessyla, and their packhorse/mount, and Jorhan rode forward.

  “It’s not that far, less than a kay.”

  “We’ll follow you.” Beltur was more than glad to do that, especially with the driving snow, especially after two turns in the narrow streets of Axalt in less than a few hundred yards. Then they were on a slightly wider way where all the houses appeared to be at least of three stories and comparatively narrow, given their height.

  Jorhan began to slow the sledge, then turned in through a narrow opening in a stone wall surrounding a dwelling that looked to be slightly larger than those they had passed earlier. He stopped beside a covered portico leading to a small side door, dismounted, and tied his mount to a short railing. “We’re here.” He climbed the steps to the raised and covered side entry, where he pounded vigorously on the door.

  Beltur rode closer to the steps and simply waited, glancing down the side lane toward a rear building almost as large as Jorhan’s house that had to be a stable or the equivalent.

  The side door opened a fraction, and then was thrown wide. Barrynt grinned as he stepped out onto the portico and into the snow. “Jorhan! I never thought you’d take up my offer … or you either, Mage,” he added as he took in Beltur.

  “Frigging Council didn’t give either of us much choice,” replied the smith. “Have to apologize for arriving in the middle of a northeaster.”

  Barrynt looked past Jorhan. “And the third member of your party?”

  “Beltur’s consort. She’s a healer.”

  “A smith, a mage, and a healer! Quite a pleasant surprise. Let me get my coat, and we’ll see you out to the stables to settle your horses. I’ll tell Johlana you actually came. She’s had a chamber waiting for you for years. Said you’d be here sooner or later.”

  Beltur sensed that Barrynt meant everything that he said, and that was a definite relief, although he’d been telling himself for the entire journey that the merchant had struck him as honest and direct.

  In moments, Barrynt reappeared, wearing a heavy tan woolen coat and matching hat.

  With him was a muscular-looking woman with silver-streaked blond hair and a wide smile, wearing a coat matching that of her consort. She threw her arms around her brother. “I’m so glad you came!” After a moment, she stepped back and said, “No more shilly-shallying. You all must be freezing. This way!” In moments, she was down the steps, leading the way toward the rear building. She had the double doors open even before Jorhan brought the sledge to a stop. “Trade goods?”

  “Only a fair amount of cupridium.”

  “We’ll need to bring that inside and put it in the strongroom. You and Barrynt take care of that. I’ll deal with the horses until you finish.” Johlana turned to Beltur. “You’re the mage?”

  “Beltur, and this is my consort, Jessyla. She’s a healer.”

  “Axalt could use another healer, no doubt about that.” Her eyes measured Slowpoke. “He’ll need a stall to himself. There are two empty at the far end. You can double-stall the two smaller horses in the larger one.”

  As Johlana took charge of organizing the horses, Beltur managed not to smile, but he had a definite feeling that she had to have contributed to the merchant’s success.

  Almost a glass passed, even with the help of Johlana and Barrynt, before the horses had been groomed and watered, and given some hay, and all the gear carried into the side hall of the house, certainly the largest personal dwelling Beltur had ever entered. Even the side foyer was large, a good three yards by five, with a whole line of wall pegs, several of which already held heavy coats. Beyond the foyer was a modest hallway leading to what appeared to be a larger center hall. The lower half of the wainscoted hall walls was a dark wood, while the upper half was a creamy white, and Beltur had the impression that the wainscoting continued throughout the main level at least.

  “Cupridium’s all in Barrynt’s strongroom, down below,” Jorhan told Beltur.

  “That’ll bring a few golds and then some,” added Barrynt. “I still don’t see why they wanted to drive you out.”

  “They didn’t think we’d leave,” said Jorhan. “They thought we’d stay and work for almost nothing.”

  Barrynt fr
owned and turned almost stone-faced for an instant. “Bastards.” The single word embodied both anger and cold rage.

  “Dear,” said Johlana quickly, “you can’t do anything to someone in Elparta.”

  After a moment, Barrynt shook his head and started to say something more, but stopped when Johlana gave him a sharp glance.

  She then turned to Jessyla and Beltur as they shed their outer coats and hung them on the wall pegs where Jorhan had already put his. “You two are younger than I’d thought. After all you’ve done, Beltur…”

  “I told you he wasn’t that old,” said Barrynt, following his words with a laugh.

  “Well … he doesn’t look any older than Halhana, and she’s only been consorted a year. But then, she was young. If it hadn’t been Eshult…” Johlana pursed her lips, obviously thinking. “The best chamber for you two would be the corner one on the third floor. It’s an extra flight of stairs, but there’s no one up there, hasn’t been for years, not since Barrynt’s mother passed on, but her room was on the other corner. Even an adjoining washroom. I know, that means a bit more water-carrying, but you two are young and hale.”

  “You’re very kind,” said Beltur.

  “You were more than kind to Jorhan, and kind to kind is the best way for all of us. Good thing it’s eightday when we always have a big family dinner. I’ll have to have Asala make some changes for dinner, but that won’t be a problem, and it won’t take more than a glass. Besides, I want to hear everything, and after you take your things upstairs and freshen up, we can have something hot to drink in the family parlor and you can tell us, while Asala finishes readying the fare.” Johlana turned to her brother. “You know where you’re staying, and don’t forget to wash up good.”

  Jorhan grinned, as much at Beltur as at his sister. “Some things don’t change.”

  “It’s a good thing they don’t.” Johlana looked to Beltur and Jessyla. “You two come with me.” She turned and headed for the central hallway.

  Jessyla and Beltur followed, as the merchant’s consort led them to the main entry hallway and then up the staircase, open on both sides and wide enough for two people, with polished dark banisters. The steps to the third level were somewhat narrower and closed, but still had banisters. The center hall on the third level was more modest, but the wood floors were clean and polished, and the hallway walls were also wainscoted in the same fashion as those below.

  Johlana looked at the open doorway to her right and nodded. “This is where you’ll be staying.”

  Although the inside shutters were closed and dark brown hangings covered the two narrow windows, one of the bedside lamps had been lit so that there was a warm glow to the room. Beltur wondered when Johlana had arranged that, since she’d scarcely been out of sight since they arrived.

  Johlana ushered them inside. “We’ll be down in the parlor when you’re ready. You will excuse me, but there are a few things I need to take care of. If there’s anything you need, just let me know when you come down.” She paused. “Oh … there is one thing. You can empty the used washbasin water down the covered standpipe in the washroom. Just the wash water, though. I’ll show you where the chamber pots are emptied later.” With a warm smile, she turned and was gone, closing the bedchamber door behind her and leaving Beltur and Jessyla standing there.

  Jessyla just stood and looked around the bedchamber, taking in the bedside tables, each with an oil lamp; the ornately carved, high-backed wooden bench with a long brown velvet sitting cushion; the tall wardrobe; and the wide bed with its heavy quilt patterned in brown and tan interlocking circles over a cream background, actual pillows with shams matching the quilt.

  Beltur opened the wardrobe doors to discover on one side hanging pegs and on the other a series of drawers.

  “It’s like a palace,” said Jessyla quietly. “And they’re so nice, and they mean it.”

  “We should enjoy it while we can,” said Beltur.

  Jessyla walked to the bed and turned back the quilt slightly. “Top and bottom sheets, and they’re so smooth.”

  “What about washing up?”

  “We certainly should.”

  There were already two large pitchers of water in the adjoining washroom, which also held two commodious chamber pots.

  Beltur looked at the pitchers and shook his head. “They’re even warm.”

  Jessyla’s eyes went to the mirror above the wash table. “I don’t even want to see how I look.”

  “You look wonderful.”

  “To you, dear. I know better.”

  “You can wash up first,” Beltur said. “I’ll unpack my duffel.”

  A little over two quints later, the two walked down the staircases together, with Beltur in his best blacks, cleaned as well as he could with a damp cloth, and with Jessyla wearing the green shimmersilk scarf. They made their way to the family parlor, where they found Jorhan, Barrynt, Johlana, and two young men, all seated in an assortment of comfortable chairs, except Johlana was on one settee, and another settee was vacant, clearly left for Beltur and Jessyla. Heat radiated from the iron stove set in the hearth.

  Barrynt gestured. “You haven’t met Ryntaar—he’s the redhead and the elder—and Frankyr. You’ll likely meet Halhana sometime. She stops by often.”

  “When she wants to tell Mother something,” said Ryntaar.

  “Or needs something,” added Frankyr. “Or when Emlyn and Sarysta are being nasty again.”

  Johlana offered a sharp glance. Both young men lowered their eyes.

  “There’s dark lager, pale ale, or hot mulled wine,” continued the merchant, “or chilled redberry juice.”

  “The mulled wine, please,” said Jessyla.

  “The pale ale, thank you,” added Beltur.

  “Sit down. Frankyr will get your drinks.”

  “Thank you,” said Jessyla, seating herself.

  Beltur settled beside her.

  Frankyr stood and went to the sideboard, where he filled a mug and a beaker, then offered the mug, with a wisp of steam coming from it, to Jessyla, and the beaker to Beltur.

  “We can’t tell you how much we appreciate your kindness and hospitality,” Beltur said.

  “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your getting Jorhan out of Spidlar,” returned Johlana. “That place has gotten worse with every year. From all I’ve heard, Elparta isn’t the same city where I grew up.”

  “I have to say that I’ve gotten that impression from others,” said Beltur, “but I didn’t live there long enough to know personally if that happened to be true.” In fact, he suspected that Elparta and Spidlar hadn’t changed all that much, and that people felt it had changed for the worse when what the Council did impacted them personally. He took a sip of the ale and found it strong but very smooth, unsurprisingly. “This is very good ale.”

  “Barrynt believes that his family should have the best, not just other merchants when we entertain. Some of them can be … but I shouldn’t talk about those who are unpleasant.”

  “You’ve made your point, Mother,” said Ryntaar with a smile.

  “Enough of it, anyway,” Johlana replied cheerfully before turning to the smith. “How was the trip here? Outside of your encountering the northeaster?”

  Jorhan laughed. “Likely as good as it could be with winter coming on. It was snowing when we left—”

  “Why did you leave then?” asked Barrynt.

  “Because we didn’t have any choice,” replied Jorhan. “The Council was trying to make me give up all the cupridium we’d made to this Trader Alizant even before the proclamation was saying we had to. It would have been even worse for Beltur if he’d stayed.”

  “Oh?” Barrynt frowned.

  “The Mages’ Council of Elparta was going to charge me with the improper use of chaos,” said Beltur. “If I’d stayed, they would have turned me into an indentured servant.”

  “Or worse,” added Jessyla. “One of the senior mages wanted to consort me, rather than letting me consort Beltu
r. That’s why they were going to have him executed.”

  “And why we set out in the snow,” said Jorhan. “At first, it was a light snow, and it only dropped maybe ten digits on the road. That was all until we reached the border wall when the northeaster hit.” He turned to Barrynt. “Do you know why the gate guards at the border wall were so difficult? They almost didn’t want to let me in. If it hadn’t been for Beltur, it would have been even harder.”

  “I just said that I was coming with you,” Beltur said, “and that we wanted to come to Axalt because the Council wanted to tariff us beyond belief. Well … I didn’t put it that way.”

  “The guard said he’d let me in because black mages and healers don’t lie,” added Jorhan.

  “Is that true?” asked Johlana. “That you don’t lie.”

  “It’s painful to tell a lie, but not impossible,” said Beltur.

  “In short,” said Johlana, “you don’t do it often or well.”

  “That’s very true,” replied Jessyla. “He even has trouble not telling me something if he thinks I should know it, and that’s not even a lie.”

  Johlana smiled. “I suspect you’re very careful in how much of the truth you tell.”

  Beltur smiled wryly. “I try not to get in that position. Even that makes me uncomfortable.”

  “So why did you decide to work with Uncle Jorhan?” asked Frankyr.

  “Because I fled Gallos with the Prefect wanting to kill me, and I had no coins. Even some of the clothes on my back were gifts from Athaal.”

  “He was the black who took in Beltur,” interjected Jorhan.

  “You seem to get people unhappy with you, ser,” said Ryntaar.

  “It wasn’t that. I was orphaned young, and my uncle took care of me. He was a white mage, but the Prefect of Gallos set six of his strongest whites after us because Uncle tried to avoid becoming an arms-mage for the Prefect. Uncle stood them off long enough for me to escape. I wanted to stay, but I wasn’t a very good mage then, and he insisted that he’d sworn to my mother before she died that he’d keep me safe no matter what. I wouldn’t have made it out of Gallos without the help of Athaal, Jessyla, and her mother.”